


Day 2: Explosion

by tbazzsnow (Artescapri)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Explosion, M/M, Magic, Pre-Carry On, Simon POV, Simon's childhood, Whumptober 2019, in the care homes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow
Summary: Whumptober Day 2: ExplosionSimon in the care homes when his magic first hits him.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541554
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	Day 2: Explosion

Whumptober Day 2: Explosion

**Simon**

I hate it here. Hate the grey walls, the small windows, the lumpy bed. The fact that I have to share a room with five other delinquents.

That’s what Matron calls us. We’re the troublemakers, she says. The ones who pick fights or have _attitude problems. _

I don’t have an attitude problem.

Talking is too much work. It’s easier to take what I want or shove someone out of my way than try to get the words to work for me. I can think things out in my head just fine. It’s getting them out that’s the problem. Too slow, so stumbling and stuttering that the words end up making no sense.

Or tumbling out of me in such a rush that they’re all jumbled.

It makes the other boys laugh.

And then I get angry and the words clog up inside me. Like they’re cement that’s set too quick.

It’s at moments like that the tingling starts. First in my fingers. Then up my arms to my face and the heat washes right through me. It makes the world shimmer, for a minute.

It’s worse this summer. There’s not enough to eat. There’s nothing to _do. _The lessons don’t start up again until September. Even the therapists take the summer off.

It’s just us—all of us boys—left to our own devices when we’re not doing chores for the Matron.

It’s been building up in me all day. The tingling. The heat. The red mist that I have to blink away.

Since Wes started in on me at breakfast. And then Thomas took my sandwich at lunch. Ended up last in line at dinner, what with all the shoving. Not much left by the time I took my portion.

My skin got all prickly after. An itch I couldn’t scratch away.

There’re red marks on my arms still, where I tried.

My stomach’s all knotted up and I know I’ve not had enough to eat. I roll to my side and bounce my red ball against the wall, over and over, the thumping in time with my heartbeat, the rhythm of it distracting me from the hunger.

I fall asleep at some point.

That’s when it happens, I think. I’m dreaming of fire and it’s like the fire is _in me_, as if it’s lodged in my stomach. I’m sure my skin will crack and blister from the heat. It’s like I’ve touched a live wire, a flash of flame running through every part of my body. The shimmery, red mist won’t blink away this time. There’s a glow all around me.

It’s _me_.

I’m glowing. Bright enough that I have to close my eyes and try to catch my breath but I can’t.

I can’t breathe.

There’s a sound like thunder and it’s so loud and close it makes my ears pop.

I shut my eyes as everything shakes and ripples and a burning smell surrounds me.

When I open my eyes I’m still in my bed but there’s smoke and ash around me, on me, dusting my skin, drifting in the light breeze that cools my over-heated skin.

My ball is still clutched in my hand.

I’m in the middle of a street.

It’s not my street.


End file.
